


Soft As Her Hair

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Nightmares, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Tim can't figure out why he keeps thinking about Lucy, canon complaint through 2x12, remember when Tim tells Lucy to call if she needs anything?, she needs something, spoilers for 2x11 and 2x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: Tim saved Lucy's life. She's OK now, so why can't he stop worrying about his rookie? Also when did she get so soft, and why can't he stop thinking about that?Or, Tim's internal monologue starting with 2x11 and 2x12, then fixing the part where a) this didn't push Tim and Lucy into a relationship and b) the writers largely glossed over Lucy's trauma
Relationships: Lucy Chen & Jackson West, Tim Bradford & Angela Lopez, Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Comments: 150
Kudos: 412





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The spring premiere got things roughly 95 percent right (go ahead, ask me how I predicted Tim leaning on Angela until they found Lucy), so this isn't quite a fix-it, but I've been calling it an improve-it, since it adds that last 5 percent, and then a little bit more!
> 
> I'm planning on twice-weekly update, for probably a little bit more than a month.

Tim comes over the top of the hill, ignoring the aches in his calves and the sweat dripping down his face. He’s scanning the ground, looking for anywhere the dirt looks freshly turned, when the sunlight catches on something and a reflection burns into his eyes. 

_It’s probably just a bottle cap_ , he thinks, but for some reason it holds his attention long enough that he figures it’s worth checking out. Any anomaly can be a lead, after all, and he’s always been one to trust his instincts. 

So he slows his pace, veering off to the left to track down whatever it is that’s caught his eye. If nothing else, satisfying the curiosity will keep him alert enough to keep noticing tiny differences in the landscape. 

But his breath catches when he sees that it’s not a bottle cap. Not even close. It’s a ring, silver, with dozens of tiny stones on a sphere, casting little rays of light across the sand. He’s pretty sure he’s seen it on Lucy’s finger before, when they’re all at Los Torres after a shift, and it makes hope flicker in his chest. 

She’d left them a clue. Left _him_ a clue, maybe, knowing that he’s the one who taught her that even the smallest details are important to an investigation. Lucy knew she was probably going to die there, hopefully thought she might make it out alive but knew the odds were against her, and still she wanted to make sure they could find her. 

He drops to his knees, calling out to the rest of the search party as he digs his hands into the dirt. It’s loose, like it’s just been shoveled back over, but he makes only a little progress before someone drives a shovel into the ground and starts hauling away larger amounts. He keeps scraping with his hands, though, knowing he won’t be able to get past the lump in his throat until he touches -- 

_Metal._ Cool and damp, he heaves a sigh of relief as soon as his hands push into the steel of the barrel, even though he knows they’re not through the thick of it yet. There’s other hands helping now – Nolan’s he thinks, and maybe West, pushing the lid off, and he has to resist the urge to shove everyone away when he reaches inside and pulls Lucy up by the shoulders. Her hair is dirty and matted with something that looks like blood, but he forces himself to ignore the way his stomach clenches as he lays her out flat and she doesn't move. 

His training kicks in as he leans over her face, listening and feeling for a breath that never comes. His fingers on her wrist can’t find a pulse either, and his arms move without his awareness to start pressing on her chest. A voice that sounds like his own yells for everyone to move back, give her some room, but he can’t feel the words as they come out of his mouth. 

There’s only one other time Tim can think of that he’s felt panic this strong: when he came home after work that day two years ago and found Isabel slumped on the floor in front of the sofa, needle hanging out of her arm. He was sure he’d lost her, but he hadn’t. Not yet, not then. And he’s not prepared to lose Lucy today either. 

He’s counting the compressions to himself. 24 … 25 … 26 … 

If she doesn’t come to soon, he knows what’s next, and he starts building his resolve. 

_It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a cop, saving another cop’s life._ _Serve and_ _protect, and_ _keep the rookie around to irritate me on duty._ _I’d do it for anyone here. Well, maybe not Nolan. But someone else would jump in on that one. And if they didn’t, I suppose I’d save him too._

_It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not a kiss. He’s saving her life, not kissing her._ _She’s his rookie, he wouldn’t kiss his rookie. That’s unprofessional, and besides --_

28 … 29 … 30. 

Tim reaches under Lucy’s neck to pull her head back, pinches her nose with the other hand and takes a deep breath. He fits his mouth over hers and pushes the air into her lungs, watching her chest rise and fall. He does it a second time, and he’s suddenly stricken by how _soft_ she is. Her hair, tangled between his fingers; her skin under his hands; her lips, unmoving for maybe the first time since he’s known her, but so, so soft. 

He sits up and leans over her again, counting his compressions and staring at her face, watching for any signs of life. 

6 … 7 … 8. 

His lips are moving, he realizes, mouthing silent prayers to a god he hasn’t believed in for years. He grew up going to church, but it’s hard to keep that going in the face of all the death and unfairness and uncertainty he sees every day at work. 

It’s worth a try though, if he can just will Lucy into opening her damn eyes. 

13 … 14 … 15. 

Nothing, except the way her body jerks every time he drives the heel of his hand into her ribs. He’s breathing hard again, and his biceps are starting to feel the strain of the pressure. But he won’t let himself stop, won’t let someone else take over. 

He has to save her. 

25 … 26 … 27. 

Lucy coughs, her shoulders spasming as she tries to sit up. Tim draws his hands back, but as soon as he realizes he didn’t imagine anything, he’s sliding his arm underneath her neck and helping to guide her upright. 

“Jesus, Lucy, welcome back.” He barks out a dry laugh. “Thought you could get away from my training this easy? You’re gonna have to do so many pushups for scaring me like this, Boot.” 

She’s hardly moved at all, though, when she chokes out a sob and he can’t restrain himself any longer. Instead of moving her to sit up, Tim pulls her into his chest, cradling her head against his shoulder. The sobs give way to uncontrollable shaking, and he wraps his other arm around her side, rocking both of them back and forth gently. 

“It’s OK, it’s alright. You’re alright.” The words tumble from his mouth, an endless stream of whispered comfort. “It’s alright. It’s OK now, I’m so sorry.” 

He’s not sure why he tacks the last sentence on to the end, other than some deep-seated need for her to know that he never meant for this to happen, if he’d have known who Caleb was, he’d never have pushed her to go out with him, and now he has to live with the knowledge that he did. 

_Caleb got off easy,_ Tim thinks _. He’s dead now; he doesn’t have to live with any of the guilt._

Lucy curls even further into him, shielding herself from the view of everyone standing around them. Tim brings his arm up to brace her back and head, leaning himself forward to help cover her as he keeps muttering reassurances. He knows it’s selfish, knows that she’s the victim here, but he lets himself seek some comfort in feeling her weight against him, warm and terrified and trembling, but alive. 

His chin ends up hooked over her shoulder, and before he can think about what he’s doing, he’s turning his head just the slightest bit to press his lips into her hair, right above her ear. He kisses her head, still holding her and letting her cling to him. He doesn’t move as the sirens approach, won’t let go of her until Angela is kneeling in front of him and pulling his arms away. She’s saying something, but he can’t make out the words over the rushing sounds of relief in his own head. 

The next thing he knows, his arms are empty and his torso inexplicably cold against the warm weather, even if it is January. There’s an ambulance rolling past Nolan’s patrol car, back down to the city, and Angela is pushing him into the helicopter. She’s still talking, and she hands him a headset as the blades lift off the ground, but he doesn’t put it on. There’s no point, when he knows he won’t be able to hear anything through the earpiece anyway. As soon as they’re in the air, the residual adrenaline seeps out of his body and Tim slumps forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs and letting his head hang between his knees. 

He opens his mouth to sigh, but the noise that comes out is something between a sob and a guttural scream. It’s the first thing he’s truly heard since Lucy came to and started crying in his arms, and he supposes he should be grateful for that much, but the sound is truly godawful and the only thought he can process is how it feels like everything that’s happened all day just fell out of him in one incoherent sound. 

Angela leans forward to catch him, bringing an arm around his shoulders and half-shouting in his ear. It’s supposed to be comforting, he can tell, but the din of the rotors makes it hard to hear anything beyond his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

“SHE’S OK, TIM. YOU FOUND HER. SHE’S ALIVE. SHE’LL BE OK.” 

She reaches for his hand, and under any other circumstances, he doesn’t think she’d have tried that, knowing that Tim is about as far from touchy-feely as it gets. But he clings to her now, and Angela doesn’t lean back until the helicopter lands back at the Mid-Wilshire. Even then, it’s just to drag Tim into the front seat of her car and drive him to Cedars-Sinai. 


	2. Chapter Two

The next few hours pass in fragmented bursts of memories in Tim’s mind. 

Angela drops him off at the doors of the emergency department, and he’s still standing there when she’s got the car parked. She steers him into a chair, presses a cup of ice water into his hands and tells him to drink. The rest of the team shows up after a while, and at some point the cold water becomes hot coffee, but he can’t pinpoint when. 

Then he’s alone. He’s pretty sure everyone trickled out, can remember Angela saying she needed to get home and make sure Wesley didn’t drink himself to death. That doesn't sound familiar, and he makes a mental note to follow up with her on it later, but in the moment all he can remember is how to nod his head and tell her goodnight. 

Eventually, a nurse comes and finds him. He’s still in uniform, so it’s probably easy for her to tell who’s here for the kidnapped cop. He’s barely focused on her words, but makes out “stable condition” and “concussion” and “a few nights for observation” before he sinks back into the chair in relief. 

Grace comes out not long after, kneeling in front of him and shaking his knee to get his attention. She urges him to go home, call an Uber, lay down in an on-call room and at least try to rest, but he can only find one sentence in reply. 

“Where is she?” 

Grace sighs and stands up. She knows a futile argument when she sees one, and trying to keep Tim from seeing Lucy is sure to create more problems than it solves. “We admitted her. Third floor, west wing. You know where the elevator is. I’ll call the floor nurse and let him know you’re coming up.” 

* * *

He’s not sure how or when, but he makes it up to Lucy’s room and settles himself into the vinyl-covered chair next to her bed. She’s not intubated, and he finds relief in that, but she’s too still, too quiet lying there unconscious. 

Tim can’t bring himself to look at her for too long, so he pulls out his phone. Two hours pass as he scrolls through Facebook, though he wouldn’t be able to tell you a thing about his cousin’s birthday party even after thumbing through the pictures. 

But he can tell you that Lucy hasn’t moved, hasn’t opened her eyes, hasn’t said a word. 

By 4:30, Rachel is awake and getting ready for work, calling him to see if he’s heard anything about Lucy’s condition. She doesn't seem surprised when he says he’s been there all night, just asks if he wants her to stop by with anything on her way downtown. Tim looks down at himself, catches the reflection of the light off his nametag, and grimaces. 

“Yeah, a change of clothes would be great. Love to get the badge off.” He pauses, considering. “And … could you grab a veggie burger? Uh, with fries and extra pickles, from that greasy food truck off Elm?” 

“Sure. Yeah, of-of course. Anything else?” Her voice waivers, but Tim doesn’t notice, only half-focused on their conversation. The rest of his attention is on Lucy, watching carefully for any signs of life. Rationally, he knows she’s OK, that if she were on the brink of death, he’d be up in the ICU and there’d be way more machines attached to his rookie. So it’s good that they’re down here and the room is quiet. 

It’s just hard to convince himself of that when he’s been here for almost 11 hours and she hasn’t moved. 

So he finishes his phone call and starts clearing the emails out of his spam folder to kill time. It’s 5:15 when his battery finally gives up and the screen fades to black. He looks around the room for anything else with which to entertain himself, but the only thing he can find is some teen gossip magazine. The bright pink and yellow cover is supposed to be attention-grabbing, he thinks, but mostly it’s just a little nauseating. 

Mercifully, before he can bring himself to reach for the magazine, there’s a soft knock on the doorframe and Rachel steps into the room. 

“Hey, you.” She’s carrying a floral tote and a paper sack with grease spots on the side. She’s whispering, but the room is so quiet that Tim has no problem making out her words. “How’s she doing?” 

“Good. Uh, still out of it. Grace gave her a sedative so she’d be able to rest at least a little while. Should wear off soon.” He looks over to Lucy again, but she still hasn’t moved. “I’m gonna go change.” He takes the bag from her and heads for the in-suite bathroom, ready to strip off the dirt and grime of his uniform, even if a shower is still out of the question. When he comes back dressed in the T-shirt and leather jacket he’s pretty sure he wore to Rachel’s one night last week, she’s settled herself into the chair next to the one he’d been using. 

He sits back down and makes himself look at her. 

“Thanks for the clothes. And the …” He cuts himself off, even though he can't figure out why he doesn’t want to talk about the food he asked her to bring. “How was … how’s work?” 

He tries to listen, means to pay attention when Rachel starts talking about the new case she’s working, the single mother she’s finding job opportunities for and how excited her kids always are to see what toys are in Rachel’s office when they come in for meetings. But his attention is drawn back to Lucy. 

It’s like he can still feel her hair under his hand as he tilts her chin back to breathe air into her lungs, but he’s grateful now to whatever nurse wiped the matted blood away from her face, leaving her skin clean. If not for the hospital setting, he’d believe she was sleeping without the assistance of the drugs in her IV. 

Tim's mind wanders back to how soft Lucy felt when he was saving her, and he can't help but wonder if he’s exaggerating it in his own mind. If he weren’t so aware of Rachel’s presence in the chair beside him, he’s sure he’d reach out to touch her again, find out if her hair really is that soft, her skin really that smooth. 

He’s not sure why it matters so much that he knows for sure. 

Rachel isn’t talking anymore, and Tim knows he’s taken too long to notice, if the look on her face when he finally looks at her is any indication. 

“What?” He winces internally, knowing he’s misstepped when Rachel stands up and puts her hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna head out. It’s been a good run, Tim. Call me sometime if you’re still interested, but you do what you need to do here first. No hard feelings.” She bends down to kiss his cheek and walks to the door. “You didn’t have much at my place, but it’s in the bag. Take care of our girl.” With that, she’s gone, the sound of her heels clicking down the hospital hallway while Tim gapes at the doorway. 

_‘You do what you need to’ … what does he need to d_ _o?_

Tim thinks about it briefly, but feels the mystery settling into a headache behind his eyes. So he does the only thing he can think of, reaches for the only distraction left in the room. 

He flips past the obnoxiously bright cover before it can blind him, ready to roll his eyes at whatever fluffy gossip the pre-teen crowd cares about these days. 

_Pretending to care about celebrity gossip_ , he thinks as he looks at the first article. _This is just how much you mean to me, Boot._

But before he can think too much about the weight behind that thought, he shakes his head and makes himself start reading about some Asian teeny-bob music group he doesn’t care to know anything about. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy wakes up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite canon-based sections to write -- the scene in the hospital was so funny!

He feels her turn to look at him when she wakes up, but Tim figures he should play it cool until Lucy acknowledges what’s going on. 

“What are you reading? Teen Rebel?” Her voice is soft, but still a little hoarse. Tim wonders if it’s from disuse or from screaming while she was captive. But before he can think too much about that, he notices the two tiny white bandages on her chin for the first time and wonders how he missed them before. The edges are sharp, clean lines where they meet the soft curves of her face. They’re a stark contrast against her skin tone, even more so where the bruising covers her face, but he supposes he was just so glad to see her alive earlier that he overlooked some of the finer details. 

He’s suddenly overcome with the urge to talk about anything other than the events that landed Lucy in the hospital bed, so he swallows against the lump in his throat and looks up. 

“They actually have some really insightful political articles.” He watches her smile a bit, but wince when it pushes on her bruises, and has to look back down at the magazine before he can focus on what she’s saying. 

“Ooh, ‘Which BTS Member is Your Soulmate?’” She’s reading off the front cover, he can tell by the intonation of the same voice he’s listened to in his earbuds for three hours a night at the gym, telling him about Split Second Leadership, but her tone goes casual as she continues. “It’s got to be Suga, right?” 

Tim looks away again, hoping she can’t tell that he’s just now making the connection that BTS is the band that was on the cover. Clearly Lucy knows at least a little bit about them, and he’s not sure why that makes him feel a little bad for being totally clueless. He won’t look back this time, he tells himself, lest he say something unpredictable about how soft she was as she cried in his arms. 

She needs better conversation that that right now. They both do. 

“Totally.” 

But he looks back anyway, letting her see a sliver of the confusion on his face. 

“What’s a BTS?” 

“Oh, god.” She rolls her eyes and chuckles for a moment. Just as he’s realizing how nice it is to hear her laughing again – when just 15 hours ago, they’d all had to consider the idea that they may never hear it again, she turns back to him, suddenly serious. “Have you been here all night?” 

It hits Tim all at once how strange it must seem to have him there. Sure, they work together, but Jackson would have been the obvious choice, since they’re roommates and all. Nolan would have made more sense than Tim too, since they’re both rookies. Hell, even Angela or – god forbid – Harper could have been here for protective detail. 

But he’s in his street clothes now, and he knows she’s noticed that, so he can’t use the department as an excuse. He’s scrambling now; he’s waited too long to reply and he knows she’s noticed that too, so he goes with the only thing he feels like he can say, shaking his head. 

“No.” Then, for good measure. “Mnh-mnh. No.” 

She looks at him, and he knows she’s seeing right through him. He braces for the inevitable dispute, but blessedly, Grace chooses that moment to come around the doorframe. 

“Glad to see you’re awake.” 

Tim isn’t paying attention to the conversation, choosing instead to focus on how easily he could tell Lucy knew he’d been there the entire time. Part of good police work is being able to read your partner well, and he knows that, but there’s “reading her well” and “identifying every emotion on her face,” and he’s not sure when that line got blurry. Or what it means now that it has. 

He just knows that he’s grateful Grace walked in before Lucy could ask any questions about his presence. Then he hears her mention Rachel, who apparently will be back after work, and something twists in his stomach. 

Does she think he’ll be gone then? Will he be gone then? Or will he still be here keeping Lucy company? 

But Grace is quiet, and Lucy is talking to him. He blinks himself back to the present and tunes back in. 

“How did you find me?” 

You told me where to look. 

But he can’t tell her that. He can't admit how easily he picked up on the tiny clues Lucy had left. Her ring in his pocket digs into his thigh, and he’s suddenly wishing he’d tossed it in the duffel bag like he’d thought about doing when he changed clothes. Even now, he’s not sure why he felt the need to slide it into his jeans, but that’s where it is, burning an imaginary heat into his skin. 

So he doesn’t say anything. He’s still trying to figure out a response, when there’s a voice from outside the room. 

“That would be my genius policing skills. At least, that’s what people are saying anyway …" 

There are a dozen questions written across her face, but before she can ask any of them, Nolan and Jackson are crowding the doorway with the most atrociously pink plush bear Tim’s ever seen. It light’s Lucy’s face up though, so he has to admit that they hit the nail on the head when it came to her personal taste. Especially when she proclaims that the bear can share her bed and swears off dating. 

“I’m … not sure that should be the takeaway.” Grace looks up from Lucy’s chart and glances at Nolan, like she’s expecting him to agree with her. 

“Oh, hang on.” 

“Statistically, that’s actually pretty safe.” The rookies talk over each other, starting at the same time. It takes Tim a second longer to argue around the lump in his throat. 

“Definitely should.” He’s pretty sure he succeeded at sounding like himself, but the protest sounded hollow to his own ears, even if he can’t pin down why, exactly, he’s so opposed to Lucy swearing off men. 

“Oh, so this is the kind of support and understanding I can look forward to from now on?” Lucy chuckles as she looks around the room, but her eyes land on Tim. The room goes silent, and there’s something seeking in her eyes, and Tim knows what it is right away. 

“Yeah, pretty much. You hungry?” 

“Yeah, I’m starving.” He doesn’t know if she ate at the bar with Caleb, but he remembers getting an early lunch the day before she was taken, gearing up for a busy afternoon with Rosalind, and kidnapping serial killers generally aren’t known for caring about the diets of their next victims. So even if she’d had dinner before he took her, it’s been at least 30 hours since she’s had anything to eat, maybe closer to 40. Lucy’s eyes are closed, and it’s clear that she’s practically salivating at the idea of a meal. “You know what I really want to eat right now?” 

Tim makes a concerted effort to fight back a smile as he brandishes the paper bag from between his feet. 

“Veggie burger and fries?” The smile breaks through as he finishes reciting the order he’s heard her rattle off so many times over the last few months. “Extra pickles?” 

Something changes in her expression as she pushes herself up on her elbows. Her smile is suddenly a little wider, her eyes a little softer, like she’s impressed that he knew exactly what she’d want. 

“You know me so well.” 

And something changes in his voice when she says that, making his response a little quieter, forgetting there’s two other people in the room with them. 

“Too well.” He means it to sound gruffer than it does, like he doesn’t want to know everything about her. A month ago, he thinks it would have come off that way, but today it just sounds gentle and caring, like the last 24 hours have sanded down some of his sharp edges. 

As he stands up to pull her tray table over and help unpackage the food, Nolan looks at his phone screen. 

“Hey, Jackson, we gotta go. Not everyone got the day off.” Tim whips his head around, the shift he’s supposed to have this morning completely forgotten until just now. 

“Don’t worry,” Jackson rolls his eyes at Tim. “Grey’s giving you the day off, remember? He came by right after they got Rosalind re-secured, said you weren’t coming back until we had solid proof that you’d slept. Luce, take care. Let me know if you need anything from home, Lopez and I can swing by at lunch.” 

She waves at him and sticks two more fries in her mouth as they leave. Tim sinks back down into his chair, reaching habitually for his phone before he realizes he should have tried to borrow a charger from West or Nolan. Now he’ll have to wait and see if Angela comes by later, but at least he knows she’s always got a spare in her war bag. 

The new silence between him and Lucy hangs just a beat too long, edging into the uncomfortable territory where whatever either of them says next will sound forced and awkward, so Tim figures he might as well go completely for broke and try to buy himself a little bit of relief. 

“You know, Lucy, you don’t have to swear off all men over this. Just … the ones you don’t already know.” 

“Ah,” she swallows a bite of her burger and grimaces at him. “So … my coworkers and my exes. And my ex who’s also my coworker. The dating pool runs deep.” 

“Hey, not my fault you don’t know anyone outside of work. Join a book club or something.” Tim takes a sip of his coffee, realizing too late that it’s gone cold since 5:15 a.m. when he poured the cup. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I've got lots of uploads coming up, so stay home, take care of yourselves, and keep refreshing the page, then let me know what you think!  
> xoxo


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy returns to work, and Tim goes toe-to-toe with Nyla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, ran a day late on this one but I was ready to pass out when I came home from work last night and I wanted to be sure to give things a last once-over before I posted. 
> 
> Enjoy!

A week later, Lucy’s cleared to return to work. Nine days, to be exact. Not that Tim’s counting. He’s just aware of his surroundings, constantly vigilant when things aren’t what he’s used to, and lately he’s been acutely aware of the newfound silence in the squad car. It’s been him and the radio, no idle chatter from an eager-to-please rookie. 

He knows she’ll be back on duty today, hopes they won’t get any major calls. Lucy needs a quiet first day back, and he needs some idle time on duty to make sure she’s really ready to be watching his back again. 

Tim’s standing outside the roll call room when Harper appears in front of him without warning. _When the hell_ _did_ _he stop paying attention long enough that he didn’t notice her approach?_

“So. What’s your plan?” She’s drawn up to her full height, clearly trying to assert herself to Tim, even though he’s got more years on the force and as an FTO than she does. 

“For what?” He knows what she’s talking about, but playing dumb lets a little of the air out of her shoulders, brings the balance between them closer to even. 

“Officer Chen. I’m sure you’ve got some alpha strategy to get her back on the horse. So … what is it?” Harper looks genuinely curious, and Tim’s briefly tempted to give her an honest answer. 

Because the truth is that he doesn't have a plan to push her back into the field at full momentum. If she were any other rookie he’s ever trained, he would, but he's scared half to death at the idea of Lucy getting in over her head today, trying to prove something to him she doesn’t need to. So far, he’s talked to a couple local business owners, let them know he might be bringing her in to fill out extra copies of reports he took last week, but any “plans” he has beyond that are vague and half-hearted. 

It mostly boils down to making sure that today is the worst day Lucy’s ever had as a cop. Not the most dangerous, he’d never put her in harm’s way intentionally, but even slower and more boring than the shift he’d arranged for her to ride with Officer Wrigley back at the beginning of her training. He wants to saddle her with more paperwork, more traffic stops, more of all the reasons no one becomes a cop, so that tomorrow will have to be better than today. 

But he can’t admit that to Harper. It goes against everything he’s ever said he believes in as a training officer, encouraging lazy police work in the name of a false sense of security. So he takes the ideas he’d had and offers the exact opposite plans. 

“Your standard input overload.” He shrugs with one shoulder and continues. “Force her to push through some dynamic engagements, hone in her fight or flight response.” 

“So … basically, get her into as many fights as possible?” Nyla’s staring him down, and Tim’s almost overcome with the urge to remind her who’s got seniority, golden ticket or no. But he knows that getting in a pissing match isn’t going to do anything but foul up his mood for the rest of the day, and he doesn’t want to risk taking that out on Lucy. So he grits his teeth and pushes against those impulses. 

“I’m gonna reminder her that she’s a cop, not a victim.” _And there’s a lot of police work that’s a hell of a lot more boring than the parts that put you at risk of_ _being_ _both._

“She knows she’s not a victim.” Harper bristles, and Tim can see the lecture coming a mile away. “Look, Chen doesn’t need to fight. She needs to make peace with the voice inside of her head telling her she’s never going to be safe again.” 

Tim’s jaw clenches tighter, the pressure reminding him not to say something he’ll regret. _Who does Harper think she is, talking like she knows what Lucy needs? She’s only been here a month, and Lucy’_ _s ridden with him almost every day for three months, not to mention that Tim was an FTO long before they even hired Harper_. 

“I’ve been training rookies a lot longer than you. I _know_ what she needs.” It comes out with a little more bite than he was intending, but something flashes in Nyla’s eyes and he thinks he might have won. 

Until she opens her mouth again. 

“That’s ego talking. What happened to Chen is every woman’s worst fear--” 

“I’m aware of that.” 

“But you have never _lived_ that fear. It’s clear that you have Lucy’s best interests at heart.” 

_Damn right he does_. 

“I’m just asking you to consider whether she might be better served by someone who has been through what she has been through.” 

He has to admit, she has a point. He’s never gone on a date with someone who could easily take him in a fight. Isabel could give him a run for his money, but they were evenly matched. He’s never had to look over his shoulder walking down the street, never given a second thought to asking a bartender to keep an eye on his drink so he can use the bathroom. 

But he knows that’s a reality for over half the population. And he _does_ want what’s best for Lucy, even if it’s something he’d never considered. 

“OK.” He sighs and relents. “I’ll tell Grey to make the switch.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, if you celebrate! As always, I'll be back on Wednesday. Just a few more chapters of canon left, before we take a HARD 180 into the fun parts!  
> xoxo


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim spends an entire day riding with Nolan, as if not riding with Lucy weren't already bad enough. They still share a moment, even if it's not the one he'd been hoping for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, actually uploading before midnight!

As he takes his seat next to Angela for roll call, Tim can’t shake the feeling that letting Harper take his rookie this week might not be the right call. He can’t put his finger on why, until she walks in and everyone starts applauding her return. 

Her shoulders come up and she curls in on herself just the slightest bit as she sinks down and hisses something to Nolan. 

She didn’t want the attention, Tim can tell. She probably just wanted to come to work, keep her head down and get through her first day back in the field. He sees her glance back at him when Gray announces that she’ll be riding with Nyla, but keeps his eyes focused forward. He doesn’t want to see her expression; he doesn’t want to know if she’s disappointed or excited or what’s going through her mind. 

Besides, he’s afraid that if he looks back at her, all the feelings he’s not sure he understands will be written across his face, and the last thing he wants to do right now is throw one more change at her, one more new thing to process. 

Maybe that’s why it feels like there’s a rock in his stomach at the rookie swap – it's one more change in his life, one more thing he’s done to betray her. 

_But no_ , he thinks, _Nyla’s right_. He has no idea what Lucy’s been through. All he did was push her to go out with a stranger, let her get kidnapped and then save her life. He doesn’t know any of what happened in between, other than what little he’s pieced together – the tattoo, the video, the barrel. Harper seemed like she could relate to her, and that’s probably something she needs right now. Or at least, something she needs more than eight hours sitting next to Tim, who’s still trying to figure out what’s shifted in how he thinks about her. 

He’s in the middle of considering all of this when he hears Grey add on that he’ll be riding with Nolan, which he’d already assumed, given that Harper is riding with his rookie. His eyes widen, though, when the sergeant mentions a ride-along. 

“Sorry, wait, what?” He clears his throat and sits up straighter. That wasn’t part of the deal; spending his day with a rookie who’s older than he is was already going to be bad enough, but now he also has to put up with some bright-eyed wannabe who hasn’t even made it into academy yet? 

Grey ignores his interruption though, and Tim rolls his eyes at Lopez before tuning back out when everyone moves on to Jackson and his movie star boyfriend at some Hollywood party. 

* * *

The first relief in Tim’s day is when Nolan asks him not to go easy on Abigail. Not that he would have, but he’s looking forward to being able to throw himself into all the gritty, messy parts of the job. Maybe even in the name of teaching her what life really looks like with the LAPD, so he doesn’t have to admit that it’s just an attempt to keep himself from thinking too much about how Lucy’s doing with Nyla. 

Until their first call turns into a death notice. Tim’s never enjoyed breaking the news to families, and he’s heard more than one civilian complaint that they don’t love hearing it from him either. Something about being “hard-hearted” and “abrasive” where he’s just trying not to sugarcoat things. But Abigail handles the entire thing like a champ. She’s interested in the scene, observing things about the body Tim wouldn’t have even put together, even if she wasn’t sure what they meant. And the real test? When they talk to the family? She passes with flying colors, sensitive in all the right ways, gentle and kind while still being matter of fact about what happened and helping ask the questions they needed answers to. 

He’s not sure why, but his first thought when they’re back in the shop is how much better Abigail took things than Lucy did on her first gory homicide. He remembers having to tell her not to puke _on_ the crime scene, and reminding her that “you can’t show up to a front door to deliver a death notice with mascara running down your cheeks, Boot, it doesn’t look empathetic, just unprofessional.” 

Of course, this train of thought quickly leads back to him pulling Lucy’s lifeless body out of a barrel, the idea of someone from the LAPD having to track down her parents, sit down at their dining room table, apologize for having to meet them under these circumstances, compliment the tea her mother would inevitably serve, then start in on the conversation that would change the very foundation of their lives: “Mr. And Mrs. Chen, I regret to inform you that your daughter was found this morning …" 

Tim swallows hard around the lump that appears in his throat when he thinks about if he’d have been able to look them in the eyes and say it. 

* * *

His second relief comes when he sees Lucy chatting amicably with Abigail at the station. He hadn't realized how much better he’d feel for seeing her, and he feels himself relax a little bit more as he walks over to them. 

_But he’s sure it’s just a reaction to the habit of spending his days with her_. 

“Don’t listen to him, he’s all bark.” Lucy laughs and Abigail looks up as he appears between them. “I gotta pee.” She walks off and Tim rolls his eyes at Lucy. 

“All bark?” Lucy raises her eyebrows and smirks at him. “She’s not buying what you’re selling.” Tim can tell she’s holding back more laughter, so he steels his own features and replies in a dead-serious monotone. 

“I don’t hold her fate in my hands.” 

That stops Lucy dead in her tracks. He can tell she knows he’s right, but there’s something more there too that he can’t pin down. Because Abigail is there for the day, but Lucy’s career rests on his ability to train her well. Hell, her _life_ rests on his training skills, because if he doesn’t make her into the best cop she can be, God only knows what could happen to her. 

And they both know it. 

But he can’t stand the look on her face, like she knows he means more than just the fate of her career. Because he does, but he’s not ready to unpack all of that yet. So he changes tracks, remembering Harper’s voice on the radio announcing “shots fired” at their last scene. 

“Heard you dodged some bullets.” He manages to sound casual, like they’re just talking about another day on the job, but he’s pretty sure she can tell that he’s genuinely concerned. 

“Yeah, a few. What, are you keeping tabs on me?” She’s not teasing, at least he doesn’t think so. There’s something in her voice that sounds genuinely curious, maybe even a little impressed. 

_Yes. Of course._ But he can’t tell her that. He can’t show his hand this soon, before he even knows what the cards he’s holding mean. 

“If you need anything, you let me know.” He didn’t mean to go back to the sincere tone so soon, but he’ll meet her on that level. And he means it, truly. Not only does he want her to have someone to ask for help, but he wants her to ask _him_. He doesn’t know why it matters so much, but he wants to know if she needs something, wants to be there for her again. Still. He’s never stopped being there for her, not since the sunlight reflected off her ring and she saved her own life with his hands. 

“You got a time machine?” She’s trying to joke, forcing a tiny smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. But he sees right through it; he knows she’d give anything to go back 10 days and do everything differently. 

And he would too. He’d change one thing. 

Given the opportunity, he’d gladly turn back time, not encourage her to go out with Caleb. He’d invite her out for a beer with him, maybe even bring Harper and Lopez, West and Nolan along so it looked more like a group thing than a one-on-one. 

If she went out with Caleb anyway, he’d stop her from getting drugged. 

But if that happened despite his best efforts, he wouldn’t change a damn thing. Once he knew she was missing, there’s not a single moment he’d replay differently if he could. He’s lived it over and over in his head, and he knows he did everything right: his training paired with his intuition, he held off his emotions until they would help him instead of hinder, and most of all _he found her_. He read the scene, knew what her message was, however subtle, and he found her. 

And he wouldn’t change that for the world. Unless he could stop it from having happened at all, he wouldn’t change a thing about his response. 

“I wish I did.” 

It’s too earnest, too heartfelt, and he can tell as soon as he says it. That much is clear in the way she looks down, and there’s a part of Tim that wants to apologize. For what, he’s not sure; crossing an imaginary line of professional versus personal in the workplace, for everything that’s happened to her in the last week and a half, for encouraging her to go in the first place, for _something_. Whatever’s put that look on her face, he wants to apologize until it’s gone. 

But there’s nothing he can say that will fix everything, and he knows that, so he tells her not to get under Harper’s skin too much and turns to find Nolan. 

* * *

When she gets back out to the squad car, Lucy tries to hide the tears she’s wiping from her eyes. 

_She’s so tired of crying every time she thinks about what happened to her. Or anything that might remind her of what happened._

But just this once, she thinks it might be warranted, because Tim was the most openly emotional, she can remember seeing him since they ran into Isabel back during her first week of training. 

And if he’s this worked up about everything, surely that means she’s warranted a few tears, right?” 

“You alright, Officer Chen?” Harper looks over at her. “Bradford didn’t say anything stupid in there, did he?” 

“No. He … I’m fine.” She sniffles once and fastens her seatbelt. “C’mon, let’s get back out there.” 

* * *

Tim rides out the rest of the day, and manages not to strangle Nolan. Apparently Henry picked Abigail up for the afternoon, so it’s just the two of them in the shop, and among other things, Tim now gets to stew over how one stupid teenage mistake is going to hold Abigail back from a career she’d have thrived in. 

At least Nolan seems to have picked up on the mood, because he’s not trying to chat like he has the few days that Tim’s ridden with him before. They spend the afternoon in relative silence, save for a couple of minor calls, but just when he thinks he’s home free, Nolan opens his mouth. 

“So there’s really no way the LAPD would overlook that? I mean she was 17. Everyone makes dumb decisions when they’re in high school. And you saw her today--” 

“Doesn’t matter, Boot. Domestic violence is domestic violence. You’ve seen the numbers; cops beat their spouses more often than almost any other career. Really think we should be putting guns in the hands of people we already know have a propensity for it?” 

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. But there should be a way to atone for it, make up for past mistakes.” 

“There is. She can make up for it, maybe become a social worker or something, but law enforcement is off the table. That’s that, it’s how the system works.” He bites the last sentence off like it’s personally offended him, even though he knows that this happens to be the system working right. People with violent histories can’t be cops because they can’t have guns. 

And sure, maybe he’s being a little too harsh on a guy who’s just trying to help his future daughter-in-law out. But Tim’s tired and pissy after a long day, and he doesn’t care to respond to the same question in nine different forms with an answer they both already know. 

So he puts the car in park and unfastens his seatbelt, hoping the message comes across clearly: the conversation is over, there is no other answer, and he won’t find a magic solution. 

Life doesn’t work that way. 

Sometimes the only solution there is, is to find is a couch, 2004 NFL highlights reels on ESPN and a few cold beers at the end of a long day. 

Which is exactly what Tim is planning to seek out when he gets home. He hustles through the locker room, getting back into his street clothes, and only allows himself a fleeting thought about Lucy when he sees her walking out with Nyla and Angela. 

_At least she’s in good hands_. He trusts Angela not to get Lucy in over her head. Because he knows Nyla wouldn’t do anything intentionally, but he also doesn’t know that she’d pull back if she crossed any lines. 

And if he makes a mental note to ask Angela about Lucy tomorrow, then he’s only doing so as a concerned training officer, worried about the wellbeing of an officer out on the streets of LA. 

But when he drops onto his sofa, careful not to slosh any beer out of the bottle, something digs into his backside through the pocket of his jeans. 

He knows what it is, remembers sliding it out of his duffel bag when he pulled the jeans on. But now he tries not to think about it, shifts his weight around before he can force himself to think about why he pocketed it instead of just leaving it in his bag or sitting it on the shelf in his locker until he has a chance to give it back to her. 

It’s still jabbing him, so he shifts again, this time to pull the ring out of his pocket with the intention of dropping it on the coffee table in front of him. The lamplight catches it before he can lean forward, though, and he stops, rotating it gently to watch the light move. 

He settles back, leaning into the arm of the couch to get closer to the light, the TV forgotten in the background except where it makes the back of the ring shine brighter. As he watches the light catch on the gems and bounce softly across the room, he tries to figure out why he hasn‘t given it back to Lucy yet. 

It’s not like he hasn’t had a chance to see her. He spent two days in the hospital with her, and could have handed it over at any point then, or left it lying on the table for her to find after he left, if he wanted to take a coward’s way out. 

But he’s no coward, and he knows he wants it to mean something when he returns it to her. What it can mean, he’s not sure, but it has to be something important. 

He probably could have given it back today, before her first shift back. Nothing big, but he’s sure she’d have thought about it all day, how it could have meant that he was glad to have her back, that he had her back today even if she wasn’t riding with him. But he kept it in his bag. 

Now he has to wait for another opportunity to come along. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know the drill! See you Saturday!  
> xoxo


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy gets her ring back. Tim packs his bags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week got away from me, but I'm back with the last canon-based chapter. This was one of my FAVORITE scenes to get to play with! Enjoy!

He takes the ring back to the station in the morning, stuffed in an outside pocket of his bag. But he doesn’t let himself think about it, instead steeling himself for another day riding with Nolan. 

Who disappears as soon as roll call is over. He’s not in the shop, he’s not picking up the gear, and he’s not in the locker room. Tim stops Angela when he sees her outside the booking room, reaching for her arm to get her attention. 

“Hey, you seen Nolan?” 

“Not yet.” There’s something else on her mind, her expression easy to read after years of friendship. Before he can ask her to spit it out, she keeps talking. “Hey, Lucy had a bit of a … moment last night when we were out. It-it's not a big deal; she’s fine.” 

_Not a big deal?_ He doubts that, based on the look on Angela’s face, and he can feel the anger rising in his chest. It comes on faster than he expects, and stronger than he thinks it should, given that she was off-duty, in the company of other officers, and that he’s not responsible for her personal life. 

He trusted Angela, even if she didn’t know it, but he’s pretty sure she did. He’s also pretty sure that whatever happened wasn’t her idea. At least, if she’s telling him about it now, she didn’t come up with whatever plan it was that went sideways, because her self-preservation instincts are stronger than that. 

“What the hell is Harper doing?” 

“Helping.” She reaches for his arm, but aborts the gesture. Tim can tell that she wants to believe her own words, maybe she really did think Harper had a good plan last night. But he can also see the doubt creeping onto her face now, like she’s not sure if whatever they did is really helping Lucy heal. “Don’t get all ‘Tim’ on me. I just … thought you should know.” 

_Why would she think that? He’s not Lucy’s babysitter_. But there’s no time for that now, because she’s right. He did want to know; he’ll always want to know if something happens to her. There’s a permanence to that thought that scares him a little bit, so he pushes it back down and goes back to the concern for his rookie. 

“Lucy’s OK?” 

“She will be.” Angela smiles at him, and dammit, but she’s always seen right through him. She knew he’d want to know, just like she knows exactly why he needed her when he found out Lucy was missing. She’s the only one who’s ever been able to truly talk any sense into him, and he knows he’s going to owe her a beer or three when their lives settle back down. 

He’s also pretty sure he remembers hearing something Nolan repeated from Jackson in the shop yesterday that she and Wesley were having some trouble since the nuclear-disaster-that-wasn't, and reminds himself again to ask her about that next time they’re out for drinks. In the meantime, though, they’ve both got shifts to run. 

“Alright, thanks for letting me know.” Before he can ask what she’s up to after work, Nolan’s bounding over, somehow resembling both a middle-aged man and an overeager puppy, and he has to turn his attention back to their case. 

Tim throws himself into their new leads, which happen to line up perfectly and point them toward a suspect. They’re in the squad car, on the way to Everest’s house, when Tim finds that he actually has something non-work related that he wants to discuss with Nolan. 

“You and Chen are close, right?” He’s pretty sure he knows the answer, but he can’t find a better way to start the conversation, and there’s a little part of him that’s afraid his answer might not be “yes,” especially when Nolan doesn’t answer right away, like he’s trying to gauge the correct response. 

“Yeah, I’d say so.” 

“How’s she doing?” He pauses, then realizes he hasn’t asked quite the question that’s on his mind. “I mean, really doing?” 

“She good.” Nolan’s choosing his words carefully, he can tell, afraid of saying too much. But that’s not what Tim wants. He wants her to be doing well, but there’s got to be more to it than “good” and he wants to know the rest. 

He wants to know everything, so much that it scares him a little bit for reasons he can't put a finger to quite yet. 

“Really?” He’d caught a quick glimpse of her as she climbed into the shop earlier, and even just from that, he doesn’t entirely believe Nolan’s response. 

“I think she’ll be better, once she gets that tattoo removed.” Ever the oversharer, which Tim had been counting on today, but not for this, he plows on. “Can you _imagine_ that? Walking around every day, branded by the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” He opens his mouth again, like he’s going to keep talking, but Tim cuts him off. 

“You think because it’s physical it’s worse?” He looks over at Nolan as his heart tightens to concrete. There’s anger burning hot in his throat, but he swallows against it, knowing he can’t cross any lines. His voice is still harsh, cutting the words into the space between them with a sharp blade, but he won’t lose his job over this. “Tragedies _always_ leave scars, only some of them you can see.” 

He still has more to say, but by a stroke of what almost has to be luck, the Dead Bastards roll into the trailer park before he can give into the outrage boiling just below his surface. They need a lead on this case more than he needs to prove some vague point about the validity of the scars nobody can see. 

Then Nolan recognizes his truck, tells him how Abigail was still worried about Ellen last night, and Tim can’t believe she’d do something so near-sighted and reckless. 

Well, actually, he can. Because she’s thinking with her heart, not with her head. And he can't believe she’ll never get to be a cop. LA needs more cops with the kind of heart Abigail has. 

_Lucy’s like that too. Tim’s not, he never was, and he never can be. He’s seen too much, been through more than anyone can handle and still come out the other side with the kind of reckless_ _optimism_ _people like Abigail and Lucy have._

He can’t let himself get distracted though. Not by that, and not now. Not when there’s gun pointed at civilians and a SWAT team standing behind him, and all of a sudden bullets start flying. He’s got to focus, keep people safe, protect and serve. 

That familiar routine eats up the rest of his shift. There’s arrests, and arrests lead to hours in booking, watching to make sure none of the perps try to pull anything. Then booking means there’s paperwork, and a quick check-in to make sure Abigail is holding up OK, and then it’s time to hit the showers and head home. 

It happens again, though, as he’s pulling his jeans over his knees. He remembers the ring in the bottom of his bag, and before he can think about what he’s doing, it’s tucked into his front pants pocket. He rolls his eyes at himself, sure he’s not going to see Lucy tonight, but starts the trek downstairs, through the gym and out the side entrance of the parking garage closest to his truck. Someone’s working out; he can hear the movement before he even gets to the doorway, the sound of skin on a sandbag unmistakable to his ears. 

But he’s not expecting to round the corner and see Lucy pounding into one, her form remarkable and every hit landing with a resounding _thwack_ on the vinyl. 

Tim watches her for a moment, but before he can plan his next move, she’s sensed his presence. The punches slow to a stop, and she wipes her face with the bottom of her shirt. The tattoo on her ribcage flashes for a millisecond before she’s turning to face him. 

“Hey.” It’s not a glamorous greeting, but he’s at a loss for any other words. 

“Hi.” She’s breathing hard, and Tim can see that she’s jumpy, the flicker of her eyes as she tries to figure out where she could make an escape. But she stays, and the ball is in his court. 

“You got not quit in you, do you, Boot?” 

“No, sir. I get that from you.” It’s supposed to be a joke, he’s sure of it, but it doesn’t land. Her tone is too flat, and she’s too busy trying to figure out his motive to have any humor in her mind right now. 

Because she knows he couldn’t just be stopping to say hello. But he sees an opportunity to take a step forward, help her build her confidence back up when so much of it has been taken from her. 

“I don’t think so. You walked in the door this way.” He pushes as much sincerity into his voice as he can, trying to remind her that she’s astonished him every step of the way, since her first day in his squad car. He's pushed her to her greatest limits, he knows, but he’d never put her up to something he didn’t know she could handle, and he’d never let her settle for anything less than her best. But he knows he can’t say all of that, not without scaring her, and possibly giving himself an ulcer from the open emotions, so he settles for a return to their usual banter and a touch of mock irritation in his voice. “It’s what makes you so aggravating.” 

He knows he’s played his turn well when Lucy looks away and smiles. 

“I’m taking that as a compliment.” 

“It was meant to be.” It’s good to see her smiling again; Tim is glad he was able to help her have a good moment in what had to have been a difficult day. But the moment seems to have run its course, so he turns to leave. “You have a good night.” 

“Yeah, you too.” 

He stops halfway back to the door, hears her fists beating against the sandbag again, and something stops him. It’s her tone, the way she bit off the “you too,” like she’s resigned to the fact that she’s not going to have a good night – but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to drag anyone else down with her, no matter how many times they’ve offered to help her – that turns him back around. 

He wonders if she’s had a single “good night” in the last two weeks. He doubts it, not since the case right before she went out with Caleb. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It's a trite greeting, a standard conversation ender, but maybe he should have known better. 

“You know …" He waits for her to turn, sighs as he tries to figure out how he wants to broach the barrel-sized elephant in the room. She faces him, but he can't read her expression. There’s something there, he can tell, but he doesn’t know what it is. Nothing he’s seen before, something darker but also more hesitant, like she’s maybe afraid of whatever it is he’s going to say. 

“I’ve got half a dozen scars. Bullet wounds, knife wounds,” These are the scars she knows about, some of the ones she’s seen him earn on the job. “Broken bottles.” Her face betrays her, a shadow of curiosity flickering in her eyes, but he ignores it and pushes on, knowing he has a point to get to. “Then there’s the ones you can’t see: Isabel’s addiction, a dad who would tune me up on the regular.” 

That doesn’t surprise her, and he spares a second to wonder why, try to figure out when he showed enough of his hand that she could figure out his background. Then he remembers her parents and figures he’s probably the textbook picture of his father’s “punishments,” and keeps going. 

“And whether I like it or not ... they’re a part of me.” 

“I know what you’re trying to do here – and I appreciate it – but this is different.” Her face softens when she realizes that he really is just trying to help her cope, and her eyes fill with tears. Tim opens his mouth to – he's not sure what, but say something, empathize with her even though he’s never been through anything remotely like this, tell her how scared he was as he pulled her out of the ground, something. But before he can find his words, she pushes on, and he can tell that she needs to get the story out of her mouth. “I was tattooed by a sadist who etched my _day of death_ into my _skin_.” She chokes on a sob, and Tim jumps at the chance to ease even a little of her pain. 

He doesn’t want her having to relive everything that happened to her, having to cry in the middle of the station’s gym. She’s done enough of both of those things the last 10 days. He knows her well enough to know that, and the least he can do is keep her from having to go through it all again. Especially if it will also keep her from twisting the knot in his stomach any tighter with more reminders that he could have kept this from happening if he’d only let her go home like she wanted to that night. 

“OK, but you didn’t die. OK? You lived.” She needs to hear it said, he’s sure, that she’s alive, that she’s healing, that she survived. “And now he’s the one in the ground.” 

“But--” She laughs, but it’s dry, like she knows there’s nothing funny about anything that’s brought them to now. 

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do with it.” He gestures vaguely toward her torso, where they both know the tattoo haunts her every moment. She presses her lips together, and there’s a darkness in her eyes that makes it obvious that she doesn’t believe him. He’s always trying to tell her what to do, so why would he stop now? But he means it, and he needs her to know just how much, so he keeps talking. “OK? Burn it off. Keep it. Whatever gives you peace. All I’m trying to do is give you some hard-won perspective.” 

He means every word of it more than he’s meant anything maybe since Isabel. There’s irritation cut across her features though, like she’s just waiting for him to shut up. But then she softens, as he drops back into something closer to his training officer voice. It’s a little gruffer, like he’s trying to teach the sort of lesson that can be the difference between life and death. And he is, he supposes, in a way. 

“You can choose to see that tattoo as your greatest failure.” But before he finishes imparting his wisdom, the fear on her face gets the best of him. There are times for training officers to teach lessons, and there are times when terrified people who have been through something immeasurably traumatic just need a friend. 

And he promised her – and himself – that he’d be there for her, whatever she needs. So he takes the edge off, makes his tone a little more gentle and his expression a little softer. 

“But I see it as proof that you’re a survivor.” She nods once, and he takes that as a cue that he’s on the right track now. “It wasn’t your day of death, Officer Chen.” He can feel the intensity ramping up as he finishes what he’s saying, the formal title lending just enough authority that he knows she’ll take his words to heart. “It was the first day of the _rest of your life_. And no one can take that away from you.” 

She looks away from him, tears still in her eyes. But she’s smiling now, just a little, and he knows she’s heard what he had to say. 

“Thanks.” She looks back at him, and he can’t stand to see the bleakness still written across her face, like she doesn’t feel like she’s come back to life yet. Now it’s his turn to look at their feet. 

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” There’s something awkward hanging between them now, the sincerity of the last few minutes dissipating without giving way to anything else. For lack of anything better to do, Tim crams his hands into his pockets, thumbs and all. 

Something rough and metal presses back into the knuckle of his ring finger, and he knows instantly what it is. 

But this isn’t the moment for that. 15 seconds ago, maybe it could have been, but he waited too long and now it would just be uncomfortable for both of them. So he breaks the silence with the only thing he knows they can both talk about right now: work. 

“You riding with me tomorrow?” 

As the stones on the ring dig into his finger, he’s not sure why he’s so desperate for her to say yes. 

Actually, the more he thinks about it while he waits for her answer, he knows exactly why. And it explains the pit in his stomach and the tightness in his throat he’s been dealing with all day. 

_There’s no way he trusts Harper with his rookie now._

“Yes, sir.” She’d looked down again, but when she meets his eyes this time, she’s laughing. It feels like a two-ton weight off his shoulders, just to see her smiling at him, and he can’t help but grin back. 

“Good.” There’s a warmth in his voice that's a surprise to them both, before he switches back to shop talk. But even then, it’s affectionate, closer to the friendly banter they’re both used to. “Get in early. War bags need restocking.” 

“OK.” She’s still smiling, and he can still feel her ring in his pocket. 

And maybe this is the moment, right now, when neither of them are truly expecting it but things feel the closest to normal that they have in close to two weeks. 

Before he can let himself think too hard about anything, he pulls the ring out and turns it over in his hand. He can feel her watching him, but he’s not sure if she’s figured out what he’s holding before he flips it into the air for her to catch. 

She stares at it for a moment, then looks up at him. There’s so much in her expression that he can’t unpack, but there’s no mistaking the way his chest tightens when he sees how amazed she is. 

Not wanting to ruin the moment he’s just created, Tim returns her smile with a tight-lipped one of his own and turns to leave. But instead of heading for the parking garage, he goes back upstairs toward the main entrance of the station. Then, he hangs a hard right, angling himself toward the supplies desk. 

He’s got some bags to pack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I look at a calendar Saturday and we get to take a dive into my headcanons. In the meantime, let me know what you think of this bit. You know where to find me.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy's first day back riding with Tim is uneventful. Unless you know her. And nobody knows the kind of cop she is better than Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first non-canon chapter!!

Lucy’s first day back with Tim is uneventful in the best way. She sits shotgun, he quizzes her periodically on LAPD codes, and they chat in between report calls about the audacity of people who think they have the biggest problem the LAPD has ever seen because their car window got broken out. 

Before everything that happened, Tim hadn’t realized how much he’d miss Lucy, even over just a few days. But he chalks that up to knowledge that he didn’t have then. He’s older now, wiser, even if it’s only enough to have figured out why, exactly, he’s been so protective of Lucy recently. 

Turns out it’s nothing to do with Harper getting her in over her head, or his own self-blame about the whole string of events, or her being his rookie. 

Well, maybe it’s a little bit each of those things. But mostly, he’s connected the protective urges and the worry and the way his chest gets a little tighter and his face heats up every time he thinks of her to all mean one thing: 

For the first time since his marriage fell apart, Tim Bradford is in love. 

He’s not sure when it happened, and he damn sure doesn’t know how, and if he’d had a choice in the matter, he’d probably have turned it down, but now that he’s figured it out, he’s feeling more relaxed than he has since they realized Lucy was missing. 

She’s a great cop, he’s trained her into a great cop, but she'd be a great cop on her own and he knows that. Every day, she makes him proud, honing her instincts and pushing herself to limits she didn’t even know she had 

Like now, when they have to chase a burglary suspect, she takes off before he even has the chance to tell her to go after the guy. 

Who’d have ever thought she’d find it comforting to hear someone shout “run, Boot!” at her back as she tries not to trip over her own feet? Or that he’d be so happy to have someone to shout it at? 

Things feel _normal_ , and Tim's realizing that that’s probably the thing Lucy missed most of all. Somehow that’s the worst thing Caleb took from her: the ability to feel comfortable wherever she’s at, not looking over her shoulder and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It takes a week for the shoe to come down, but when it does, it hits her like a sharpened stiletto. 

It’s not a busy day, so she gets to sit in the sunshine and enjoy a leisurely lunch with her fellow rookies. Jackon ribs her about how riding with Harper must have been like two extra days off, but Nolan takes her side, saying something about how he’d rather ride with Harper than Bradford any day, since at least she’ll make idle conversation with him. 

Lopez raises an eyebrow at Tim when she overhears that, and he shrugs in response. 

“You know how I am about chatty people in my shop.” 

“You almost left me at a gas station one time when I asked about your weekend.” 

“And you _learned_ , didn’t you? You’re still friends with me.” 

“Am I though?” She shoves his arm playfully. “Or is there just no one else to sit with while Harper’s taking lunch to her kid?” 

Before he can come up with a response, his radio crackles to life. 

“7-Adam-19, please respond to Sixth and LaBrea. Drunk and disorderly at bar Las Torres.” 

“Copy.” Tim crams the last of his burrito into his mouth and stands up. “7-Adam-19 responding.” 

He’s made it all the way back to the shop before he realizes Lucy hasn’t moved. 

“Boot! Let’s go! What, did you turn your radio off? We’ve got a call!” 

Lucy stumbles as she stands up and untangles herself from the bench, then climbs silently into the car. 

She doesn’t say anything on the way to Las Torres, which strikes Tim as unusual. He’s grown accustomed to her at least asking questions about the call, what their plan is when they roll up, that sort of thing. 

Maybe it’s a sign that she’s becoming more independent as an officer, she’s not worried about something as simple as a drunk and disorderly at 1:15 on a Tuesday afternoon. It’s a pretty routine call, after all, unless something goes sideways. Pick the guy up, take him down to the station, let him spend a couple hours in the drunk tank before he gets his one phone call. 

But he can’t shake the feeling that there’s a deeper reason to her silence. 

It’s just that he doesn’t put it together until they pull up in front of the bar and she’s staring at her fingernails. 

_Las Torres_. This is where she met Caleb. Where she went out with him the night he drugged her. 

“Boot. You good? Or you want to sit this one out?” 

“No, I-I'm fine.” She still doesn’t look up. “I’m a cop, right? I can handle it.” 

“Yeah, you are. And I know you can handle it, but …” Tim sighs. “You shouldn’t always have to. You can stay here, just open the door up when I bring him out.” 

She looks away from her hands, but stares straight out the windshield, carefully fixing her gaze away from the restaurant. Then she opens her mouth, closes it again and goes to start over, but Tim cuts her off before she can. 

“Officer Chen. If you’re not going to be at 100 percent for this call, you need to sideline yourself. I don’t care how simple it sounds like things will be, you’ve seen situations go wrong in a split second. If I need backup, I will call you. If not, you wait here until I bring our guy out. Understood?” 

It’s been long enough since he used the full-on training officer tone with her that he can see her shock. But he can also see a little bit of relief when she leans back into the seat and nods. 

And he pretends not to see the tears stuck to her eyelashes as he closes the car door and takes off for the bar. 

The call turns out to actually be a straightforward drunk and disorderly. Guy’s wife left him after breakfast, he started drinking before lunch and harassing other customers who were eating with a date. It doesn’t take 10 minutes before Tim is leading him out of the bar in cuffs, and he’s surprised to see Lucy leaning against the side of the shop facing the building. She opens the door before Tim can say anything, and they spend the ride to the station listening to their new companion shout about how he’s going to call his wife when he gets out, and she’ll see then what she missed out on. 

Once he’s booked and sobering up, they’re free to get back on the streets. On the way out of the building, though, Tim pulls Lucy into an empty interrogation waiting room. 

“Tim! What?” She crosses her arms as he checks the lock on the door and turns to stare her down. 

“You alright? Looked kinda shaken up back there.” He’s not sure how to reconcile his personal concern with the on-duty attitude they have to have to do their jobs, but he thinks he manages a tone that’s somewhere between authoritative and sympathetic. 

“Fine. I’m … I’m fine.” 

“Good.” She’s not, and he can tell, but he knows there’s no use in arguing it. “We’ve only got an hour left on shift, and I need my rookie in top shape. I need _you_ at your _best_.” Her arms drop to her sides, and Tim feels like he’s watching the fight bleed out of her. “Let’s get back out there. Lead the way, Boot.” 

She does, and the rest of the shift passes uneventfully. In fact, if he hadn’t been there when they pulled up at the bar, he’d never know anything had gone wrong today. 

He sees her standing with Jackson when he’s on his way out of the station, and makes an effort to look casual as he walks over to them. 

“Good work today, Boot. Glad to have you back in the shop.” He squeezes her shoulder gently and leans in when Jackson turns to wave at Nolan. “You need anything tonight, you know where to call.” 

He uses the surprise on her face, the way she freezes for a second as she process his words – an offer relatively out of character for Tim, who hasn’t made a name for himself with any emotional vulnerabilities – as his opportunity to wave at the trio and head for his truck, ready to spend another night on the couch with reruns of the original Law and Order playing in the background while he tries to focus on the sports magazine on his lap. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all just WAIT for things to heat up on Wednesday.  
> xoxo


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy goes home after work to an empty apartment. It's what she thought she wanted, until it isn't anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday! We're finally up to the actual initial idea that sparked this entire story. Enjoy!  
> xoxo

Lucy goes home after work. It’s the only thing she’s done since she came back, save for the one night she let Angela and Nyla rope her into speed dating. She goes home, eats dinner with Jackson and changes into her pajamas as he heads out the door to spend a couple hours hiding out with Sterling. 

All week, Sterling has come over to her apartment, where he and Jackson will watch a movie or bake cookies. It’s nice to listen to them having fun while she sits in her room, and they always invite her to join them, but she’s always exhausted after spending her entire shift pretending that everything is OK. 

Jackson’s the only one who knows how many times she’s been up at 2 a.m., making a cup of tea while the tearstains dry on her cheeks. 

And tonight, he’s the only one who knows just how badly she needs the place to herself. She hasn’t told him what happened yet, probably won’t for a day or two until he catches her with her guard down, but he could still take one look at her and know she wasn’t up to him having company over. 

So he fixes them each a grilled cheese and some tomato soup, and sits with her until she finishes hers because he knows she won’t eat it if he’s not keeping an eye on her, even if he tore through his own meal in five bites, and gets ready to go to his boyfriend’s house. He knocks on her bedroom door before he leaves, tells her to take care of herself and that he’ll keep his phone on in case she needs him, and he’ll see her at work in the morning. 

Then she’s alone, in a quiet apartment. And it’s exactly where she wants to be. There’s no one to pretend for, no one to prove anything to. If she wants to wear an oversized hoodie and gym shorts and put herself to bed by 9:30 p.m., that’s her prerogative. 

And that’s exactly what she does. Hands down, this was the hardest day she’s had since she came back to work, and she knows she wouldn’t have been able to handle it if she’d been riding with anyone other than Tim. He sees her in a way no one else ever has, knows what she needs sometimes before she’s even aware of it herself. 

It’s getting harder and harder for Lucy to convince herself that it’s just hero worship, that of course she admires her training officer, she’s literally told to look up to him and listen to the kind of cop he tells her to be. Because maybe it started as that, but over the last six months, things between them have shifted. 

Her last thought, as she falls asleep with the last rays of the sunset still beaming through her window, is that Tim Bradford is the last person she’d ever expected herself to fall for. 

_But maybe_ _that’s what will make him different than the guys who’ve broken her heart before._

* * *

Lucy goes to sleep in her bed. But she wakes up with her knees drawn to her chest. It’s black all around her, in the way it only is when there are no windows. 

_She knows her bedroom has a window._

Her chest is getting tight, like there’s not enough air left around her. 

_That’s crazy, there’s plenty of air in her room._

The floor beneath her is cold and hard, nothing like her fuzzy bedroom rug. 

_Unless she’s not in her bedroom_. 

She flexes her toes forward, but almost instantly they press against something hard and unforgiving. 

She lifts her arms above her head and they hit into something closing her in. 

The barrel. She’s back in the barrel. Or she never got out of it in the first place and everything she remembers from the last two weeks has been some pathetic hallucination as she dies. 

There’s not enough air to suck into her lungs, especially if she keeps breathing this fast. She thinks rationally, knows she has to do something to get her lungs back under control. 

So she sings. The same song her Appa would sing to her when she was a little girl and couldn’t sleep. The same song that got her through her first broken heart in high school, the nights in the academy when she didn’t think she’d survive long enough to make it onto the streets. Every hardship she’s ever faced, there’s been one constant, one thing that never fails to calm her down. 

_Stars shining bright above you_   
_Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"_   
_Birds singing in the sycamore tree_   
_Dream a little dream of me_

By the end of the first verse, she’s breathing more slowly. It’s hard to sing and hyperventilate at the same time, after all. She can still feel the air getting harder to draw into her chest, though, knows that every breath is using up more of her precious little oxygen. So she clamps her mouth shut, focuses on working her mind through the next set of lyrics while she holds her breath as long as she can between inhales. 

It doesn’t work. She's breathing evenly still, but she’s also whispering the words to herself, desperate for anything that will help her self-soothe. 

She's going to die here, she’s sure of it, but she thinks she owes it to herself to make sure she’s as comfortable as she can be, given the circumstances 

_Stars fading, but I linger on, dear_

The blackness around her is getting impossibly darker. 

_Still craving your kiss_

She can feel her mind going fuzzy as the edges of her consciousness fade. 

_I’m longing to linger ‘til dawn, dear_

She knows this is it, knows these are going to be her final thoughts, and forces herself to focus on the lyrics, not all the goodbyes she’ll never get to say. 

_Just saying this_

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_   
_Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you_   
_But in your dreams whatever they be_   
_Dream_

_a little_

_dream_

_of_

Suddenly everything is bright, too bright, the little bits of light in her bedroom searing into her corneas as Lucy bolts upright and gasps for air. 

There's still no air, not enough for Lucy to feel like she’s drawing a good breath, anyway. She’s looking around, squinting even in the dark of the room and trying to swallow until her mouth doesn’t feel like the Mojave. 

“Ja-Jackson!” It’s the first coherent thought she has, that she’s got a roommate, if she’s alive, he’s alive. 

But he’s not home tonight. She makes the connection almost instantly, but it still feels like she waits hours for his reply that won’t ever come. 

She could call him, she knows that as the day comes rushing back to her. “I’ll leave my phone on,” he’d promised. And he did, she knows it. She knows he’d pick up, but he’s spent all week walking on eggshells and taking care of her. He deserves a night out, even if it’s just out to Sterling’s basement bowling alley. 

Besides, she’s a cop. Surely she can handle a nightmare. She’s faced way worse than this. She was shot at _on her first day_ , beaten on by a drugged-up man three times her size, caught in a firefight with fake cops. This should be nothing compared to any of those things. 

But she’s always had a training officer there for it. 

So she reaches for her bedside table, and unlocks her phone with shaky hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, we all know who she's calling, but the DETAILS aren't up until Saturday ...


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim comes to Lucy's rescue, and finds a little comfort of his own.

Tim’s eyes pop open when he hears the beeping from where his phone is plugged in and laying next to his pillow. 

_That’s the shortest six hours of sleep he’s ever gotten_. 

Come to think of it, as he gropes along the edge of his bed until he finds his phone and fumbles with the lock screen, it’s darker than it should be at 6 a.m. As he swipes his thumb to answer the incoming call, without bothering to check the caller ID, a glance at the alarm clock on his dresser tells him that it’s just after 3:30 in the morning. 

_That explains why it doesn’t feel like he’s been asleep all night._

“Bradford.” There’s nothing but silence on the other end of the line, even when he offers a token “hello?” in case whoever’s calling didn’t realize he’d answered. Just when he’s about to hang up and try to get the rest of his sleep, there’s the unmistakable sound of a choked sob in his ear. He pulls the phone back to look at the screen, and his heart sinks. 

_Lucy Chen_. 

“Lucy? Lucy?!” The alarm is evident in his tone, and he finally lets out a shaky breath when she starts stammering. 

“T-Tim … I … ba-barrel … I was … no one … y-you didn’t … I-I … alone.” It’s hard to make out the words between her sobs, but Tim is able to piece it together. He’s pretty sure Lucy’s calling because she had a nightmare, and he’s sure she wouldn’t have done that unless she really needed him. 

That knowledge leaves him conflicted between the sinking feeling in his stomach because Lucy is hurting and the warmth blossoming in his chest because she called _him_. He told her to call if she needed anything, and she did. 

“Hang on, Boot. I’m on my way.” He tries to push himself into a fully awake training officer voice, knowing that it will probably get through to her better than anything more gentle would. There’s something instinctive in her that he knows will snap to attention at the sound of authority, blindly listening until she has the time and strength to figure things out on her own. 

Tim hangs up and shoves his phone into the pocket of his flannel pants, not bothering to take the time to change clothes before he grabs his keys and unlocks his front door. He’s wearing a shirt, and he’s wearing pants, and that’s good enough for now, because Lucy needs him. 

He lives 12 minutes from Lucy’s apartment. Or, at least, so says the maps app on his phone, because he might know every street in LA, but the turn for her complex always sneaks up on him, and there’s no spare moments tonight to circle the block if he misses the corner. 

But he clears it in nine, between good luck with red lights and a flagrant disregard for posted speed limits. 

_Rules matter, but some things matter more_. 

He calls her back as he turns onto her block, but there’s no answer. Instead of leaving a message, he hangs up and kills the engine, parked haphazardly across two spots because he can’t be bothered to back up and straighten out. 

The apartment is locked, but that doesn’t stop him from jiggling the door handle furiously when it doesn’t open on the first try. He’d shoot through the lock if he needed to, except that he left his sidearm at home in his hurry to leave. Which leaves two options: kick the door in, or find a spare key. 

Lucy would kill him if he kicked the door in; he’d never live it down, especially if it meant she didn’t get her security deposit back. But Tim is desperate enough to get inside that he decides he’ll try one time to find a spare key before escalating his use of force. 

There’s only one place he can think of where a key might be hidden. So, he takes a step back and bends down to lift up the welcome mat. 

Sure enough, there’s a key carefully duct taped to the bottom. 

_An apartment with two cops, and a key taped under the rug._ That’s a conversation they’ll be having in the light of day, but for the time being , he settles for rolling his eyes and sighing gratefully at the convenience. _Beats the hell out of shouldering through a doorframe at 3:30 a.m._

He unlocks the door, letting himself into the dark apartment. The doors are all closed, but there’s a faint light shining from underneath one, and he figures it’s probably Lucy’s room. 

It only takes a few steps for him to be standing in front of the door, and he pauses for a second to listen. Sure enough, he can hear soft sniffles coming from inside, so he knocks gently before turning the knob. 

This time, the door gives right away, and he pushes it open to reveal Lucy, sitting up against the headboard with her knees pulled up to her chest under her floral quilt. The lamp beside the bed casts a soft glow against the tearstains glistening on her cheeks. Her hands are drawn up inside the sleeves of her hoodie, making her look even smaller and more fragile than she would have otherwise. 

The contrast between this Lucy and the Lucy he’s used to seeing on duty is alarming. Even though she’s not physically intimidating, Lucy’s always had an attitude that could fill an entire room, make a perp twice her size regret picking a fight with her. From her first day, he’s been impressed by his scrappy rookie, even if he hasn’t said it often enough. 

But all of that fight is drained out of her now, as she curls in tighter on herself when the door opens. There’s relief in her eyes when he steps into the room, though, and as much as he hates the circumstances, Tim can’t deny to himself how incredible it feels to have that kind of effect on her. She’s watching him as he closes the door carefully, taking in the worn-in plaid pants and faded grey Henley. 

“How you doin’, Boot?” He crosses the room to sit on the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle or startle her. 

“Peachy, can’t you tell?” She’s deflecting, poorly, through the freshly shed tears until she sighs and turns her head to look at him, resting her temple on her knee. Some of the defensive tension bleeds out of her shoulders with the heavy exhale. “Better now that someone’s here.” 

Tim leans down to unzip his boots – the first pair of shoes he could find, since he always lines them up at the foot of his bed when he gets home, an old Army habit he’s never been able to break – but doesn’t have to unlace them, since he’d never bothered to tie them in the first place. They stay on fine for short distances, and it makes them easier for him to toe off now, before he swings his legs around so he’s sitting next to Lucy on top of the covers. He’s close enough to feel her body heat, but there’s enough distance between them that he’s not invading her space. 

At least, not invading it any more than he is by being here in the first place. 

Lucy hiccups and starts crying again, gasping for air between sobs, even though he’s sure she doesn’t feel like she’s getting any oxygen at all. 

And he has no idea what to say to her. 

Tim hasn’t felt this useless since Isabel told him that he couldn’t make her go to rehab and moved out of their house. There’s nothing he can say, no words that will wipe this away and fix everything she’s been through. And he knows that, knows that this is something she’s going to have to process through until it all feels a little more manageable. 

He’ll be here for her until it does. Even if he doesn't know what to say, how to help her, he’ll be here for whatever she needs. 

But he has to say _something_ to break the silence and bridge the gap between them. 

Before he can find any words, though, Lucy chokes on a particularly heavy sob and falls into his chest. He pulls his arm out from under her and wraps it around her shoulders, pulling her closer until their sides are pressed together. Her face is buried in his chest, and he can feel the tears soaking through his shirt as she starts to tremble. 

So before he can think too much and talk himself out of it, he brings his other arm across his torso to bury his fingers in her hair. Tim thinks about how much this feels like when he held her out there in the desert and pulls her a little closer, a comfort to himself as much as to Lucy. 

_As long as_ _he can feel her sobbing against him, he knows she’s alive._

There’s no clock in Lucy’s room, so Tim has no idea how long he holds her, other than that it’s until her tears run out. At some point, he notices that he’s tugged her all the way into his lap, but neither of them would be able to remember when, exactly, it happened. 

What he does know is that she’s close enough for him to murmur reassurances into her ear. 

“Yeah, that’s it, let it out. I’ve got you.” He tightens the arm around her waist. “Cry long as you need to, Chen. You gotta breathe, though. Pass out on me again and I’m calling Jackson to do the mouth-to-mouth.” 

That last part is a lie, and they both know it, even if she’s still unaware of exactly how he feels about her. But her sobs are giving way to soft whimpers, and she manages a half-hearted chuckle at his remark. He keeps whispering, an endless stream of comforting phrases that he doesn’t even have to think about. They pour out of him, like he knows exactly what she needs to hear right now. 

It should shock him, how naturally the urge to soothe Lucy comes to him, but he’d accepted that she meant something special to him long before he’d figured out what that something was. 

Tim gets so lost between the thoughts in his own mind and the platitudes coming out of his mouth that he doesn’t notice that Lucy’s saying something. When he stops to listen, he finds that she’s singing quietly, off-key as she trips over some of the words in a way that tells Tim that she’s not singing for anyone but herself. He rubs his hand up and down her back and turns his head to rest his cheek against her hair while he listens to the words. 

_Stars shining bright above you_   
_Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"_   
_Birds singing in the sycamore tree_   
_Dream a little dream of me_

He doesn’t recognize the song, but it must mean something to Lucy, given that he can feel her settling into his torso the further through the verses she gets. She’s calming down, letting him shield her from whatever horrors she can’t block out herself, and the weight of that trust gives him the confidence to give in to an impulse of his own. 

Tim tips his chin down just far enough that he can press a soft kiss into Lucy’s hair, in almost exactly the same spot as the day he brought her back to life. 

She freezes, and the singing stops. The silence grows between them long enough that Tim has to swallow thickly against the panic rising up in his throat. He’s getting ready to apologize, put some physical distance between them when he feels her lips move against his shirt. 

“I like that. ‘S gentle.” 

Tim takes a breath, choosing his next words carefully. He wants to be honest; he won’t lie to her. But he also doesn’t want to scare her off. Not now, when she so clearly needs someone to help her through her healing. 

“Yeah, well it seemed to calm you down before.” 

Lucy waits long enough to reply that Tim wonders if he’s given too much away. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her that he’d kissed her hair before, should have just kept that to himself. But then she’s whispering again, and even though it’s quiet, the words seem to echo in the empty room. 

“You … uh, before?” 

“Ah, yeah.” Tim sweeps his hand up and down her arm. “You’d been _dead_ and I was kinda freaked out, so … you had me off guard, and I was working off instinct. And you calmed down after, at least enough that we could get the paramedics in there.” Tim squeezes his eyes shut, trying to erase the memory of Lucy’s lifeless body as he pulled her out of the barrel. 

“It’s … nice.” Suddenly he can’t tell who’s fighting harder against their own feelings. Sure, this is the most vulnerable he’s let himself be with anyone in a couple of years. But he can feel her muscles twitching where he’s still holding her close, and it’s clear that she’s working up the courage to say … whatever she has to say, even as the exhaustion takes hold and she’s drifting back to sleep. “Thought I’d imagined the first one. You’re not as mean as everyone thinks. Even you.” 

He has to tip his head back at that, blink until the extra moisture leaves his eyes. 

“Shut up, Boot.” His voice is thicker than usual, but she’s either nice enough or tired enough not to comment as he tightens his hold just slightly and massages lightly at her scalp. “Go back to sleep. We’ve got a shift tomorrow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters!  
> xoxo


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy wakes up, falls asleep and wakes up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I acknowledge that I say this an awful lot, but this is one of my favorite installments!

Tim makes himself stay awake until he’s sure Lucy’s made it back to sleep. Once he feels the last of the tension drop from her shoulders, he lets himself close his eyes, but he’s only able to rest for another hour or so, by his estimation. It’s not long enough for any deep sleep, but when Lucy’s phone starts quacking – of all the alarm sounds she could have picked, it’s the _duck_?! -- he wakes up feeling like he’s had a decent nap on the sofa in front of a baseball game. 

He reaches across Lucy to turn off the alarm, then nudges her shoulder gently. 

“Mmph, J’kson, call Sarge. ‘M not doin’ it today. He said I c’n have leave ‘f I need. I need.” She rolls closer to him and groans. He doesn’t think she’s awake enough to register that he’s not Jackson, or that he’s still in her bed, and he’s not up to disturbing her enough to clarify things just yet. 

_There will be time for that later, and she’s had a long enough night as it is._

“Yeah, OK. I’ll call Grey. Go back to sleep.” He massages her scalp until she relaxes again, then reaches for his own phone to call the station. 

"Sergeant? Hey, it’s Officer Bradford. Doing alright, sir. I just wanted to let you know that Officer Chen and I are taking personal days today. She’s going to need someone to look after her – yeah, she had a rough night. No, I don’t think she’ll need more leave, she’s more exhausted than anything by the looks of her. Alright, I’ll let you know. Yeah, you too, thanks.” 

He hangs up the call and tries not to think too hard about the undercurrent in his boss’s voice when he approved the sick leave. He almost sounded amused at the idea of Tim taking care of Lucy, but there wasn’t any surprise in his voice. 

Before he can let himself spend too long overthinking about why Grey would care that he’s taking a day off for his rookie’s sake – other than the professional aspect where he’s down a unit today, but his tone sounded more personal than professional – he taps on his messaging app and scrolls down to Angela’s thread. 

_Called out sick w/ the boot today_ _._ _More details later._ _Tell West_ _burritos for_ _lunch_ _,_ _on him_ _._ _See you at noon._

Before she can reply, Tim closes the app and switches over to playing virtual blackjack, trying to hold his phone horizontally and reach the entire screen with one hand. His other arm is still wrapped around Lucy, fingers buried in her hair, but even though she’s sound asleep, it never crosses his mind to pull it away. 

When Lucy finally stirs again, Tim glances at the top of his screen and finds that it’s just before 10 a.m.. She lifts her head off of his chest and blinks blearily at him until the sleep clears from her eyes. 

He sits almost perfectly still, trying to gauge her reaction, but when it becomes clear that she’s not going to shove him off the bed and freak out, he reaches forward and brushes a stray piece of hair out of her face. 

“Morning, Boot.” She smiles a little bit as his fingers graze her eyebrow, and he can’t help but return it. “Ready for breakfast? I make a pretty good omelet.” 

Lucy rolls over, letting room for Tim to get up as she flops across the mattress. He turns back as he stands, and he can see the confusion across her face, probably at how casual he’s being about everything. He’s not even sure if she remembers what happened last night, the set of circumstances that brought him to her bed at 3:30 in the morning, but the fact that he’s fully clothed and was on top of the covers should hopefully bring her some comfort. 

“I … don’t like peppers. We don’t have peppers.” She sits up and tosses her legs over the side of the bed, facing him. 

“No peppers, then.” On an impulse, Tim steps forward and brushes a kiss across the top of Lucy’s head before he turns for the doorway. He pulls the door closed behind him, and Lucy can hear him rummaging through the cabinets. 

But he doesn’t see the look on her face, or how she reaches up to touch the spot where his lips were, awestruck by the way the feeling seems to linger there. 

He’s just dropped a pat of butter in the skillet when he hears Lucy scream, and before his mind knows what his body is doing, he’s crossing the apartment again. His hand is hovering over the doorknob when the door flies open and she almost crashes into him in her hurry to get out of her bedroom. 

“Lucy, what’s-” 

“It’s 10 a.m.! We’re late for work!” She pushes back past him into her room and swings the closet door open, pulling her hoodie off. The tank top she’s wearing underneath it slides up her body as she starts rustling through the hangers for a clean uniform. 

“Whoa, slow down, Boot!” Tim catches himself and rights his balance on the bedroom doorframe. “I called Grey. You told West to do it, but he wasn’t home. We’re both off today. Lopez and West are bringing lunch by later.” 

He steps toward her, spatula still in his hand, but freezes when she turns to face him. She’s pulling the tank top back down, but stops with her hand right above the tattoo on her ribcage. She’s staring behind him, to her reflection in the mirror, and running a finger back and forth across the ink, gently at first, then harder like she’s trying to smear it away. 

Tim can see the pain in her eyes, and he can’t stand to watch her hurting like this. So he steps forward again, in a moment of brazenness, and reaches for her wrist. He draws her hand back and passes her the spatula so he can use both hands to adjust her shirt. 

She shivers as his knuckles draw twin lines down her sides, but it’s probably just from the cool air in the room. 

At least, that’s what Tim tells himself. But her surprised gasp, a tiny exhale that he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been standing so close to her, drags him back out of his head and he clears his throat. 

“C’mon, eggs are ready to go in, and they’ll cook fast. You guys have any juice?” 

“Hmm? Oh, uh … apple, I think. Maybe.” Lucy’s response is stilted, like her mind is somewhere faraway, but she lets Tim steer her to the kitchen island and pull the spatula from her hand. He pours the eggs in and sprinkles them with cheese, figuring a simple breakfast will suit them both the best right now. They can worry about balanced diets later, when everyone is running on a full night of sleep. 

Lucy doesn’t say anything while he finishes cooking, and only offers a quiet murmur of thanks when he slides an omelet – and a glass of apple juice – in front of her. He settles into the chair next to her with his own plate, and watches her out of the corner of his eye while she picks her way through the meal. 

She eats slowly, tiny nibbles at first, like she’s testing the waters of if she’ll be able to stomach the food. Under any other circumstances, there’s a biting remark on the tip of Tim’s tongue about her thoughts on his cooking. 

But today, he knows that’s not it at all. Just like he knows that she’s not looking for conversation, may not even be looking for company. She hasn’t asked him to leave yet, though, and her bites of omelet are getting bigger, until her plate is cleared. So Tim is inclined to call it a win, as he paces himself to finish his meal at the same time as Lucy does, so she doesn’t worry about if she’s eating fast enough. 

He knows she’ll need to take her time with this, with everything, until she figures out what normal will look like for her now. Healing is a process, Tim knows that better than anyone, and he doesn’t want Lucy to feel like she has to rush anything along just to prove a point to him. 

So he matches her pace at breakfast, and as soon as the plates are emptied, he’s rinsing them off in the sink. Lucy stays fixed in her seat, but he can feel her eyes trailing him across the tiny kitchen, watching him start to tidy up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter! It'll go up Saturday, just in time for the season finale!  
> xoxo


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After breakfast, Tim reminds Lucy that it's OK to take a sick day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last chapter. I know y'all just want to see what's in store, so I won't mince words up here. Enjoy!

Once the dishes are soaking, Tim goes back to Lucy, reaches for her shoulder, and guides her again. This time, he sits down beside her on the couch and grabs the TV remote. The hand not holding the remote stretches along the back of the couch, and the only thing that surprises him when Lucy tucks herself against his side is how much he’d been expecting her to do exactly that. 

“C’mon, no better way to spend a sick day than watching game shows.” He glances at her out the corner of his eye and grins. “They’re more fun when you play along at home.” 

“I’m not –” 

“Before you say you’re not sick, Lucy,” _When did he start calling her Lucy? He doesn’t know, but_ _the name_ _feels right in his mouth_. “You are. Heartsick and headsick are still sick, and you’ve more than earned your fair share of both of those. So you take your sick day, work through whatever it is you’ve got to work through, even if it’s just some hours of missed sleep, and when you come back, make sure that you’re 100 percent and ready to do the job. Now, Family Feud is about to start, and let me tell you, I watched a whole lot of Family Feud after you got me shot, so you’ve got some tough competition.” 

He can’t resist the opportunity to poke fun at her first couple of days on the job, but there’s no malice in his tone. It’s been over half a year, he’s healed and if anything, he’s a stronger cop and training officer now than he was before. 

And he knows Lucy is better at her job for it. Sure, getting shot isn’t one of his usual training tactics, but if it had to happen, he’s glad it was with a rookie who’s sticking it out for the long haul. 

_At least she didn’t wash out after her first shootout. Lucy’s always been better than running from the action._

Which is why it’s so hard for her to take the day off now, he knows. She can’t stand being at home all day, watching trashy TV, when she could be out on the streets of LA, running toward the sound of bullets. 

But he can’t think about that right now, not when they’re introducing the competitors. 

“So? Which family you rooting for, Boot?” She shrugs and he rolls his eyes. “Come on, you have to pick a side, that’s half the fun. Here, I’ll make it for you easy this time. The Petersens are mine. Now you’re cheering for the Taylors. Game’s easy, shout an answer out—” 

“Why’d you come over?” She cuts him off with a whisper, reaching out for the remote to mute the TV. Tim briefly considers swatting her hand playfully, but something in her voice tells him that she’s not playing right now. “Last night … this morning, I mean.” 

“You asked me to.” He only hesitates a moment before he responds, settling on the most obvious, but least detailed answer because he can’t get a read on how serious Lucy is looking for this conversation to go. 

He did come over because she asked. There’s no lie there. But what he doesn’t tell her is that he’s pretty sure he’d go anywhere she needed him to, regardless of time, place or reason. 

“You … why’d you stay?” 

“You needed me.” There’s no elaboration, but he does drop his hand down to rest on her shoulder, and for some reason he can’t pin down, the gesture feels more intimate than fitting his mouth against hers to literally breathe air into her lungs. 

“Why did you … you kissed my head. Um … more than once.” He can feel her bristle, can tell that his simple answers are surprising her. “You don’t have to answer. I’m just … curious.” 

“It calms you down.” He decides to show her a little bit more of his hand. “I like knowing that I can calm you down, when you need it.” His grip on her shoulder tightens briefly. 

“And you keep holding me?” 

“Calms us both down. If you weren’t OK with it, you wouldn’t keep leaning over. And it makes me feel better, knowing that you’re here and alive and … I didn’t get you killed.” His shoulders stiffen as he reveals to Lucy the lingering guilt he carries around her kidnapping. Rationally, he knows it’s not his fault, could explain a million ways he’s not responsible. 

But that doesn’t change the way he feels, in the deepest parts of himself, when he remembers how he pushed her to go out with Caleb. The factual knowledge does nothing to stop the way his breath catches in his throat, his heart beats a little faster as he thinks about how close they came to losing her. 

How close _he_ came to losing her. 

Then she’s leaning away from his chest, and he’s sure he’s ruined whatever the moment had been. The vulnerability was too much; he shouldn’t have exposed her to his trauma when she’s clearly struggling with her own thoughts right now. He pushed too far, too fast, and now she’s pulling away from him – literally. 

But she doesn’t go anywhere. She sits up, turning to kneel close enough to him that her knees are pressing against his thigh, and before he can register what’s going on, Lucy leans in and kisses the side of his head, right above his ear. 

“Does it work on you too?” 

There’s something different in her whisper now, unlike anything he’s ever heard from her before. It’s quiet, but that’s not it. Her breath is hot against his ear, and that’s _definit_ _ely_ doing something for him, but the biggest shift, he thinks, is that Lucy’s entire voice is lower, hushed and intense and directed right at him. 

There’s no mistaking the question she’s really asking, not when he can feel every point of contact between them, and Tim realizes the opportunity she’s giving him. 

She knows he’s interested, and she’s clearly reciprocating, but she’s still waiting for him to draw the line. After everything that’s happened to her, she still trusts him to draw the line somewhere that she won’t get hurt again. 

“A little.” He matches her volume, and can hear the rasp in his own voice as his mouth goes dry. “But I think this might work better.” 

He turns his head and kisses her, fitting his mouth against hers carefully for a long moment before he pulls away and exhales heavily. 

“Well?” She smiles at him, and if he didn’t find it so endearing, the smugness would drive him up a wall. As it is, he reaches out with one hand to caress her face, running his thumb lightly across her cheekbone. He lets the gesture speak for itself and counters with a question of his own. 

“What’d you think?” 

“I feel better.” Lucy presses her face against his hand, then shifts to curl against his torso again. “You?” 

_She fits so neatly into his side,_ _just where he’s wanted to be able to hold her for longer than he cares to admit, even to himself._

“I think I know why all I could think about as I blew air into your lungs was how soft your lips were.” 

It’s not the most romantic thing he’s ever said, not by a long shot. But Lucy looks up at him and laughs, and something in his chest loosens with the joy he can feel radiating off of her. 

“Yeah? It’s called lip balm, Tim. Maybe you’ve heard of it?” 

“Mmm, maybe. It sounds a little familiar, but I might need another demonstration.” He grins down at her and she laughs again as she leans up to kiss him. 

This time, one of her hands slides up to rest on his chest, and he covers it with the hand that’s not running through the hair at the back of her head. 

Neither of them lean back for more than a breath. It’s been a long time since Tim’s kissed someone like this, not trying to take things any further than lazily making out on a couch. At some point, Lucy resituated herself in his lap, and his arms wound up around her waist, carefully settling low enough on her body that he knows he won’t brush against her tattoo. 

_That’s a bridge for them to cross later._

He’s just thinking about mouthing his way across her jaw to kiss down her neck when she all but jumps off of him, smoothing down her shirt and reaching up to check her hair. 

“Lu--” but then he hears it too, the unmistakable sound of a door unlocking. They’re staring at each other, wide-eyed, and it occurs to Tim as the door opens that there’s no way they’ll be able to hide what they’ve been doing. 

Especially not from Angela, who’s standing right behind Jackson in the doorway. 

“Lu-Lucy?” Jackson’s jaw may as well be on the floor, and his eyes are at serious risk of drying out if he doesn’t blink soon. “Officer _Bradford_?” 

Tim thinks it might be funny, watching him struggle to piece the puzzle together, if he weren’t a little bit worried about having basically been caught in the act with his rookie. 

“You said burritos at noon.” Angela nudges Jackson forward and holds up a plastic to-go sack. “It’s … 11:58, but somehow I don’t think those last two minutes would have changed anything.” 

When Jackson turns to stare at Lucy, Angela winks at Tim, and he could be mistaken, but he thinks she looks a little impressed, even if he isn’t sure exactly why. 

_Two nights later, she’d tell him over beers that he’s basically the last person to know how he felt about Lucy, and she’s proud of him for working his shit out_. 

“You could have texted en route!” Tim doesn’t think he comes off sounding half as indignant as he’s trying to, but it’s hard for him to be upset about much of anything when not five minutes ago, he was holding Lucy in his lap and kissing her senseless. 

“Jackson!” Lucy’s senses are coming back, it seems, just enough to stare at her roommate in wide-eyed panic. “I’m … I … we …" 

“Y’know, I really don’t want to process this on duty.” Jackson rolls his eyes. “Let’s just eat now, and we’ll talk later.” 

The second mention of food spurs Lucy to scoot back toward Tim, ostensibly making space on one end of the couch for Jackson and Angela to squeeze in. 

But Tim senses she might have had an ulterior motive, if the way she reaches for his hand and pulls it around her shoulders is any indication. The two of them share a private, tender smile as their friends settle on the couch, and when Tim leans forward to take his burrito from Angela, he uses it as an excuse to softly kiss Lucy’s temple. 

She’s holding her own food in one hand, but the other one reaches up to squeeze his fingers where they’re resting on her bicep before she unwraps the foil. 

Tim is pretty sure he can faintly hear Angela talking about something Nolan said at roll call that morning, but it’s hard for him to focus on her words through the haze of contentment washing over him. 

There’s going to be a lot for them to work though, and he knows that. They’ll have to talk to Grey, and there’s a good chance he’s going to have to start training Nolan full-time, not to mention the scars they’ve both got, the skeletons in their closets. 

But none of that matters now, when she’s pressed against his side, laughing at something their friends are saying, and smiling at him like he’s the only person in the room. 

He moves his hand back to run his fingers along the hairline at the back of her neck, relishing in the way she shivers and leans closer to him, close enough for him to tilt his head down and rest his face against her hair without drawing too much attention to the gentle kisses he’s leaving there. 

_His heart feels almost as soft as her hair and her skin and her lips, and Tim wouldn’t have it any other way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well *sighs*. I kinda don't want this one to end, but also I'm so thrilled with where it ended up. And fear not, this story has reached its conclusion, but there are many thousands of more words of Chenford fic sitting in my cloud. Let me know what you want to see next!
> 
> xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make my entire day! Especially with everything in the world right now, let me know if this is able to brighten your day a little bit. Drop your feedback below, or my tumblr askbox is always open @firstdegreefangirl. And as always, but now more than ever, take care of yourselves and your people.  
> xoxo


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